Marianne

'Well, this mission?'

'Supposing I have one – and it is possible – it is no concern of yours. I see no reason to confide in you. And further more,' here she allowed a note of insolence to creep into her voice, 'even if I had a message for you I could scarcely give it to you since I do not know who you are.'

'I have told you. I am called Morvan,' he said arrogantly.

'That is not a name. And I would remind you that you have not yet been civil enough to show your face. To me, therefore,' Marianne concluded, 'you are simply a stranger.'

A gust of wind flung open one of the windows, sending it banging back against the wall and whirled through the room lifting the papers which lay on the tables. Morvan rose with a sigh of irritation and went to close it. On his way back, he paused to snuff a candle which was smoking, then came and stood squarely in front of Marianne.

'I will show you my face if I think fit. As for my name, it is long now since I had any but Morvan. I am known by that name, over there,' he added with a nod in the direction from which came the murmuring sound of the sea.

'I have nothing to say to you,' Marianne answered him coldly, 'except to ask you to return what is mine, in other words my possessions and my servant, and let me go on my way – when you have given me something to eat, that is, for to tell you the truth I'm starving.'

'And we shall sup very shortly. I did but wait for you. Let us settle our business first, however. I cannot eat with something nagging at me.'

'I can at any time. So let us get this over if you please, and ask whatever questions you wish.'

'Where are you going?'

'To Paris,' Marianne said with all the satisfaction of one telling the simple truth.

'Who are you going to see? The Red Herring? Or the chevalier de Bruslart? Although I doubt the latter's being in Paris.'

'I don't know. They would find me. I don't know who I have to deal with.'

Now it was Morvan's turn to look thoughtful. But Marianne could guess what he was thinking. He must be reasoning that a girl so young and inexperienced could not be the bearer of any perilous message and, in any case, would be unlikely to know its real worth.

Having reached this conclusion, he smiled at her, that wolfish smile which Marianne hated instinctively.

'Very well. I am willing to accept that and shall not force you to betray your secret – which might have unpleasant consequences for us both. But your coming is a blessing of which I should be foolish not to take advantage.'

'Take advantage? But how?'

'It is like this: I have already sent two messengers, one to the King at Hartwell House, the other to London, to the comte d'Antraigus. Neither has returned and for months now I have had no orders or instructions. I was getting desperate when the sea deposited you here like a miracle. You are a god-send! You could scarcely expect me to let you run away again without first giving me a little help?'

The tone was soft, almost carressing but Marianne forced back a shudder. There was something cat-like in this man and she liked him better when a spitting fury than with velvet paws. However, she managed to conceal her thoughts.

'How may I help you?'

'Easily. By remaining here, as my – guest,' an infinitesimal pause before the word, 'and queen of this sad house. Meanwhile, I shall see to it that your servant, the man by whom you set such store and who seems to me to have the air of something more than a mere servant, is sent back to England. He will go, with a proper escort, to the King – or to Madame Royale. Her Highness must have a great regard for you to have given you this precious locket. She will not be indifferent to the fact that you are detained here, unable to assume your mission, until I obtain satisfaction from the princes, or at least an answer to the question I have asked.'

Morvan was watching her reactions closely and Marianne needed all her self-command not to show her dismay. Yet the wrecker's plan contained nothing to delight her. Jean Le Dru would never consent to carry through the part she had forced on him if it meant a return to England and the hulk that awaited him in Plymouth or Portsmouth. He would tell the truth and would then be in imminent danger of having his throat cut by Morvan's men. And if Morvan were ever to suspect what she really was, a murderess fleeing from the rope, her own life would not be worth much more. Morvan was just the man to hand her over, bound hand and foot, to the English law if he thought it would serve his turn. She had to part company with this dangerous individual and the sooner the better. But meanwhile, it was vital to gain time and, when Morvan asked: 'Well? What do you think of my offer?' she was able to reply quite calmly and even summon up a smile.

'I think it is an interesting idea and one we might examine further at more leisure – when we have eaten for instance—'

Surprised, perhaps at her ready acceptance, Morvan gave a crack of laughter and offered his arm with a bow.

'You must indeed be very hungry. And you are quite right. My arm, my dear, and let us recoup our strength somewhat.'

The room in which meals were taken in Morvan's house bore no resemblance to a banqueting hall. It was simply a large kitchen with a floor of beaten earth. A granite fireplace of monumental proportions took up the whole of one side and inside it, in a niche in the soot-blackened wall, was a stone bench on which an old man, with grey hair straggling from under a battered hat, sat meditating with his chin on a knotted stick. At the far end, beneath the narrow window, a long box table, flanked by two settles, was set at right angles to the wall. On it were bowls and dishes made of a red earthenware and, next to them, a big wicker dish cover was attached by a long cord to a pulley fastened to the ceiling. The only light in the long, low room came from the flames in the hearth and from a pine torch stuck medieval-fashion into an iron ring in the wall. There was a strong smell of wood smoke. Apart from the old peasant dozing in the chimney corner there were only four people in the kitchen when Morvan entered with Marianne on his arm: the old woman she had seen when she woke up and was now busy with a large pan on the fire, Gwen and the two men whose acquaintance Marianne had made under such unpleasant circumstances on the beach. No one spoke. Gwen merely stuck her nose in the air and took her place at table with the rest.

Sitting beside her and facing the three men, Marianne could not help asking why Jean Le Dru was not present and where he was.

'Because in my house, as in other noble households, the servants do not eat with the masters. These – er, gentlemen,' he added in a mocking voice, indicating Vinoc and his companion, 'are my lieutenants. Your servant is lucky enough to be served in his own quarters – he is locked in the barn.'

With this explanation, Marianne was obliged to be content as Morvan began immediately to say grace. No respectable household would have bowed their heads more piously over their plates than the three wreckers and the girl Gwen. Deciding that in future nothing should surprise her, Marianne did the same, after which they addressed themselves to the meal in a silence befitting so noble a subject as food.

This too was of a kind quite unfamiliar to Marianne. A thick soup made of parched oats and a few pieces of bacon so fat that Marianne could not think of eating it, was followed by potatoes baked in the ashes. Seeing the others break them open on the edge of their bowls and then dip each spoonful in the cold milk of which there was a plentiful supply, she copied them and found it delicious. The buckwheat pancakes sprinkled with plenty of sugar which came next were good as well and she drank several bowls of milk. Only Morvan drank wine.

From where she sat, Marianne could see into a small room, like a store room, opening out of the wall next to the fireplace. Inside, under the now darkened window, stood an outsize table covered with a white cloth. Sitting cross-legged on this table was a small, wizened man. His skin was almost yellow, his hair dark and lank, his hands white and agile. A huge heap of materials of all colours had been pushed to one side, while this curious creature was busily engaged in putting away vast quantities of pancakes smothered in thick cream with which the old woman was plying him with unexpected goodwill. Marianne could see that they were talking a good deal but could not hear what was being said. However, since she was too young to contain her curiosity, she asked: